


Blanket of Sadness

by Annehiggins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:25:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annehiggins/pseuds/Annehiggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam helps Dean cope with an incident of depression. Pure emotional hurt/comfort with a sexual twist. Written for <a href="http://blindfold-spn.livejournal.com/7359.html?thread=7440575#t7440575">this prompt</a> on the Blindfold_spn meme. The prompt and the story were inspired by artwork by smallworld-inc. Posted to Life Journal Jan. 31, 2012.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blanket of Sadness

  
**Blanket of Sadness**  
By Anne Higgins

Day to day, disaster to disaster, Sam figured his brother was best described as some sort of masochistic version of the Energizer Bunny. No matter what the hit, Dean just kept going and going and going. Except everyone knew even the best batteries wore out. Including Dean Winchester.

Was always because of something small since nothing short of the end of the entire universe would get his brother to stop if major crap was hitting the fan. And it always happened without any warning. One minute Dean would be fine and the next he'd just stop whatever he was doing – also never anything important like driving – and wrap himself up in what Sam always thought of as a blanket of sadness. It was apparently one of those times.

They'd finished up a simple haunting with a fairly uneventful salt and burn. Simple meaning, like almost always, the pissed off spirit went for Dean before the match dropped on its bones. Not as if Sam never got tossed around, too, but when only one of them got up close and personal with hard surfaces, 97.4 percent of the time it was Dean. Not even an exaggeration. Sam had done the math once when he was bored.

This one had sent Dean flying. Not far, impact on ground versus something less yielding and his brother knew how to fall. Hadn't even managed to knock the wind out of him before Sam torched its ass. Dean had walked back to the Impala – limp free – and drove home suffering from nothing more than the usual 'eau de torched bones' and a few bruises.

Feeling guilty as always about remaining unscathed, Sam insisted Dean take the first shower. While he waited he got out a clean t-shirt and boxers to sleep in. Not seeing any reason to do otherwise, he fished a fresh set out of Dean's duffle, too. As the bathroom door opened, he dropped Dean's stuff on the bed, the t-shirt falling on top of the boxers. "That was quick," Sam said a little surprised. Dean usually liked to push the limits of even a saint's patience when they had a shower with decent water pressure like the one in this motel.

He shrugged. And okay, maybe there were warning signs like fast showers and non-verbal responses, but Dean standing there wearing nothing more than a towel wrapped around his waist made his brain go other places. Knowing he smelled of very unsexy things, he gave his brother a quick kiss before ducking into the bathroom to set his own high speed shower record. Having to wash then dry his hair always slowed him down, but ten minutes later he wrapped his own towel around his waist and emerged with thoughts of getting rid of any and all terry cloth coverings dancing in his head.

It all came to a crashing halt when he saw Dean. His brother had kept going long enough to lose his towel and pull on his t-shirt, but the sad must have hit him before he could find the energy to step into the boxers. Instead he'd dropped down onto the arm of an old chair. He'd folded his arms across the top of it, then rested his head against his right arm. Sam allowed himself to feel a moment's regret at not being able to take advantage of the adorably sexy sight of his brother's gorgeous ass showcased by the t-shirt, but he wasn't the little kid who always put his needs before Dean's anymore.

First things first, he pulled on his stuff, then moved around so he could see Dean's face. God, what a sight. Dean's cock rested limply against his right thigh forcing another twinge of regret even as the forlorn look on his face cooled most of Sam's libido. "Hey," he whispered, squatting down enough to put his head level with Dean's, "you okay?"

The left shoulder flexed in the most pathetic half-shrug Sam had ever seen. Damn, this was one major crash and burn. Time to break out the emergency supplies. He stood back up and headed for his duffle. A can of what Campbell's called _Old Fashioned Tomato Rice Soup_ was as much a part of Sam's gear as holy water, salt and clean socks. Even had a spoon and a bowl – with Transformers on it. Been Dean's favorite cartoon back in the day and Sam figured it made up for the non-homemade version of Dean's favorite soup. A travel mug with quotes from _Dr. Sexy, M.D.,_ a package of dark chocolate hot chocolate and a bag of mini-marshmallows joined the soup and bowl on the bed. Time to get cooking.

He started the coffee maker while he nuked the soup. Once the coffee finished, he poured it over the hot chocolate and enough of the marshmallows to make things extra sweet and gooey. He screwed the lid on the mug to cut down on the heat loss, then took it and the bowl of steaming soup over to the table. Alright supper was on, but, no, there was no point in calling Dean over when his whole being screamed 'too sad to move.'

Never more grateful for his height and muscle as when he needed (or wanted) to haul his brother around, Sam walked over to him and scooped Dean up. Said a lot that he didn't even curse, just rested against Sam with the same melancholy listlessness as he had the chair.

Sam sat down at the table, Dean in his lap. For a few minutes Sam didn't move. He'd heated the soup to scalding temperatures so they'd have this time to simply sit and let the tomato aroma chip away at Dean's funk. Sometimes when Dean got like this, Sam had to reheat the soup two even three more times, but Dean finally shifted a little signaling he'd respond to step two.

It was kind of a guilty pleasure feeding Dean, getting to take care of him the way Dean always had Sam, and he couldn't help liking how much his brother needed him at times like this. Or even that Dean allowed him to see even the slightest sign of need. Never had growing up. In those days it had always been about Sam. For both of them. But not now.

He picked up the spoon, filled it with soup, then lifted it to Dean's lips. As expected, they parted and let it enter. Neither of them talked as Sam slowly fed him the entire bowl. They never did. Dean hated to talk about his feelings and Sam after so many years of badgering him to do otherwise had finally figured out that maybe he should find a way to help Dean instead of getting him to do what Sam wanted. So he fed Dean with one hand, while the other rubbed lazy circles against the small of Dean's back. _See, big brother? No matter what is hurting you, soup means love, and I love you._

By the time the soup was gone, Dean sort of held the travel mug himself, although Sam still did most of the lifting and tilting to allow him to drink his special 'pamper Dean' creation. Any other time and Dean would be bitching about fouling coffee with sugar and other shit, but he craved the sweetness and chocolate on nights like this.

Step three – coco – completed, Sam waited for Dean to give him some indication of what step four should be. Nothing meant he wanted to sit and be held, so Sam would shift them to a more comfortable chair and hold him all night. A push against the hand on his back signaled hidden aches and the need for a gentle massage. The list went on, but Dean cut off the mental run through with the brush of his lips against Sam's throat. Wanted to be made love to.

A relief. Meant whatever had triggered this wasn't another round of guilt about corrupting his baby brother – which was damned stupid since Sam had made the first through 500th moves. But that was his Dean – if there was a way to feel guilty about something, he would find a way.

Getting a good hold on his brother, Sam stood up, then walked over to the bed. He skimmed off Dean's t-shirt after he set him down and got him stretched out on the bed. Beautiful sight capped by gorgeous green eyes full of love and need. Made him want to yank off his clothes and pounce, but, again, not about him. Instead he slipped out of his clothes, then settled on top of Dean.

He started with gentle kisses and caresses, trying with every taste and touch to show Dean how very, very much Sam loved him. And he made a point of avoiding Dean's hot spots. No doing anything to hurry things along. Arousal would build or Dean would fall asleep. It had happened each way more than once and Sam was fine with either outcome because they both meant Dean moving out of sorrow and into something safe and loving with Sam watching over him.

Sam lost track of time as he cherished his brother, but he guessed at least an hour had passed when a soft gasp escaped Dean's lips. Ah, an arousal night then? He deepened his touches. Not by much, but Dean's hips shifted after a few moments, and the cock pressed against Sam's thigh twitched. It prompted him to begin giving attention to the side of Dean's neck, his nipples and the inside of his mouth.

Dean shifted his hips again, his cock growing harder, and his arms came up around Sam's shoulders. Sam rewarded him with a long, deep kiss, smiling around Dean's tongue when it began to dance with his.

Most would say a night like this one – no reheating of soup needed, a request for love-making followed by arousal – meant Dean in a lighter mood. Sam knew otherwise. This was Dean deep in his lowest of moods and far too frightened by it not to seek comfort as actively as he could. It meant Sam needed to break him apart with love and gentleness.

When he sensed his brother was ready, Sam grabbed the bottle of lube from where he'd left it last night. As he had with the kisses, he took his time preparing Dean for his entry. Twice he used his fingers to take Dean to the brink of orgasm only to back off and let the urgency ease. After the third time, he withdrew his fingers and pushed his cock into the heat of Dean's body.

Sam loved fucking his brother. Loved seeing him go wild with passion he'd caused, then glowing with love in the aftermath. Made this the most difficult time to keep his mind focused on Dean and not his own body's need to thrust away. Normally Dean was such a responsive lover a good hard pounding sent them both soaring, but if he tried that on a night like this, he'd leave Dean far behind. Not an option. So he focused his thoughts on his brother -- not on the sexy moments of their lives, but the brotherly ones. On every single time Dean had put Sam first no matter what the cost, on every moment they'd laughed together or shared an adventure. On all the reasons Dean was the love of his life. It let him keep his hips in a slow, but deep rhythm that slowly coaxed Dean to respond.

A soft gasp, a faint moan, a few shifts of muscle beneath him – those were Sam's rewards. Nothing compared to his lover's usual vocal enthusiasm, but they meant so much more. He felt the brush of Dean's lips against his temple and had to bite back words of love. They wouldn't mean a thing to Dean. Too many words that had proved false in Dean's life, many of them spoken by Sam when he was too young, too stupid and too selfish to understand whatever path he walked he needed Dean beside him. Instead he let his body say everything. Actions always spoke the truths to Dean.

And Sam 'spoke' his truths with soup, coco, and whatever touch Dean needed from arms around him as he sat gazing into the dark to this slow, simmering heat between them. Again time blurred as he took Dean to the brink and back over and over. A sheen of sweat slicked their skins and Dean's hands began to clutch versus rest against Sam's shoulders. Not yet. Not yet. Push, pull, slide, clench of muscle and brush of lips. Not yet. The last bowl of Lucky Charms, fireworks at the side of the road, Dean walking him to school every morning. Not yet, but close. The first time they kissed, the first time they made love, the first time they slept in the same bed after making a ruin of the other.

Dean tensed beneath him, his body ready yet again, but this time a choked sound escaped his lips. Yes! Now! He thrust hard three times, sending them both hurtling over the edge into release, Dean's a warm damp between them while he spurted deep into his brother's body. He came with a groan; Dean, with a sob.

A sob that pulled others spilling after it in a mirror of a sexual release. Dean's body began to shake with the force of them as Sam shifted to the side, then pulled him close so he could cry against his shoulder. He rubbed Dean's back through the brief, but furious storm, pressed kisses to the top of his head and let Dean hang on tight.

When it was over, Dean slowly lifted his head and Sam took the opportunity to gently kiss away the tears that had fallen. Once he'd finished he lay back and let Dean look at him. Finally his brother spoke for the first time since they'd left the smoldering grave. "You love me."

"Yes, I do."

end


End file.
